


someday, you will

by remindmeofthe



Series: like an early warning [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically, Beta Read, Episode Remix, Gen, yennskier but they don't know it yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27092368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remindmeofthe/pseuds/remindmeofthe
Summary: “Oh, come on, you’ll love it. You and Queen Calanthe can swap stories about the terrible men you’ve had to deal with, you’ll have so much fun I’ll have to drag you out of the castle come morning.”Yennefer graciously allows her bard to drag her to a betrothal feast. Events ensue.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: like an early warning [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977370
Comments: 12
Kudos: 80





	someday, you will

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "like an early warning." You could read this on its own, but you'd be missing some context.
> 
> Many, many thanks to the excellent [cutloosemcgoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutloosemcgoose/pseuds/cutloosemcgoose) for betaing! She helped me clear up some muddy spots and make some weak bits work better. She would also like you all to know that the working title for this was "they all end up in Cintra anyway."
> 
> Title courtesy of "Doll Parts" by Hole.

“Yen! Yen, I’ve been invited to play at the princess’s betrothal feast in Cintra.” Jaskier drops into the other chair at the table Yennefer has just claimed, beaming at her.

“Tell me you at least didn’t fuck the messenger this time.” Not after what happened last time.

He waves a hand dismissively. “Eh, she was more your type than mine anyway. But you’ll come with me, right?”

She will. She’ll have to start accompanying him to his court performances more often soon, as lead after lead in her quest to regain what’s hers fizzles out and she finds herself increasingly in need of connections and favors to call upon, and she suspects he knows it. But she raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him anyway, because it does not do to give Jaskier anything without making him work for it.

“Oh, come on, you’ll love it. You and Queen Calanthe can swap stories about the terrible men you’ve had to deal with, you’ll have so much fun I’ll have to drag you out of the castle come morning.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“So you will come!”

“That depends. What’s in it for you?”

“What, I can’t want to pass along my good fortune by treating my dearest friend to a nice time?”

This is not worthy of a response and does not get one. She waits.

Jaskier sighs. “Fine. You remember the mess you so kindly sorted out for me the last time I did, er, thank the messenger for his service? Well. Imagine that, but. Multiplied.”

“I did not become the most powerful sorceress on the Continent to save an idiot bard from reaping what he’s sown.”

“And I wouldn’t dream of asking Yennefer of Vengerberg to waste her time in such a crass fashion. I am-”

“You would and you have.”

He gives her a long-suffering look. “ _I am simply suggesting_ that she might prefer her hardworking and reliable barker survives the night.”

Yennefer returns his look with one of her own, letting a long moment pass before she says, “Only if they actually try to kill you. Otherwise you’re on your own. A little light maiming might do you some good.”

*

From what Yennefer knows of Queen Calanthe, she doubts Jaskier’s frothy style of music is to the woman’s taste. It’s just possible it’s the princess’s preferences being catered to, but Yennefer rather thinks Jaskier’s invitation isn’t about Jaskier at all.

People have learned over the years that, if they invite the bard Jaskier to perform at their events, and if their events are good enough and they themselves are deemed important enough, he might just show up with Yennefer of Vengerberg on his arm.

(The more astute ones note that it’s the other way around. They are the ones who tend to be graced with her presence and attention to their discreet requests more than once.)

It’s proven more advantageous than Yennefer had imagined it would be that night almost ten years ago, when Jaskier first proposed their partnership. He’d been right not only about how viciously her former employer had ground her reputation into the mud (which she had expected), but also about how his devotion to literally singing her praises would clear the way for her to prop herself back up (which she had attributed to his ego). She’s better-known and more respected now than she had ever been wasting away in Aedirn, and it’s opened doors she wouldn’t have had access to otherwise.

His career has prospered as well, of course, exactly as he’d envisioned; she’d thought fame and fortune would eventually turn his head and make him so unbearable that she’d be glad to see the back of him when it finally tempted him away from her side, but that has yet to happen. If anything, it’s been the opposite, his professional interest in her deepening into something that feels sometimes, to Yennefer, very much like loyalty.

Likely, for this especially important occasion, she would go even if the Queen’s interest really did begin and end with Jaskier, though he doesn’t need to know that.

They’ve dressed carefully, as they always do: to complement not each other, but the surroundings and their host. Yennefer has chosen a soft, deep gray over the drama of her usual black, with the cut of the dress itself flattering but also utilitarian, easy to move in. In most courts, so simple a look would be bordering on an insult, but everyone knows just how much use Queen Calanthe has for fanciness and fripperies. She’ll appreciate the practicality. The color of Jaskier’s finely crafted doublet, which he will be keeping properly buttoned for a change, reflects the color of the Queen’s armor, because despite the fool’s face he likes to wear, he too pays attention to the details. It’s one of the things that makes him more tolerable than she had once expected.

Another is how proud he always looks about being seen in her company. He needed a few sharp lessons in the beginning about taking her for granted, but once he learned, he did not forget. Even now, he’s looking at her more than he’s looking around the hall, smiling in satisfaction.

Or at least he is until someone shouts across the room, “Geralt of Rivia, the mighty witcher!” at which point his head, along with many others, whips sharply around.

The witcher in question is wearing black armor and a deeply uncomfortable expression, almost squirming under the sudden attention. The man responsible for it - Yennefer recognizes him vaguely as one of Skellige’s royal advisors, a druid who’s been with the Skelligen court nearly as long as Yennefer spent in Aedirn - claps him warmly on the shoulder as soon as he’s within reach.

“That’s _Geralt of Rivia_ ,” Jaskier whispers to her, loudly enough that he needn’t have bothered. He’s slipping into his performer’s skin - every word, every gesture imbued with that little extra bit of theatricality, stopping just shy of self-caricature. It used to irritate her terribly, but like many irritants, she’s learned to live with it.

“Yes, thank you, Jaskier, but my ears are functioning correctly.”

“He’s the witcher who helped Triss -”

“And my memory,” she interrupts, “nothing wrong with that either,” because Triss only told them about the Temerian princess’s monstrous origins after swearing them both to secrecy, and for as much as Jaskier still complains about that from time to time ( _“Think of the ballads, Yen!”_ ), she knows he takes it seriously. The princess’s future relies on her secret remaining a secret.

(Yennefer still, upon occasion, has to reach into his sleeping mind to soothe away nightmares of dead children in his arms before he wakes. He’s useless when he hasn’t had enough sleep.)

Sure enough, he looks at her guiltily and, for once in his life, leaves his unwanted commentary unfinished, saying instead, “I have got to talk to him. . . . She did not spend _nearly_ enough time on how gorgeous he is, Yen, _look_ at him.”

Yennefer, who is looking, decides not to remind Jaskier of the existence of enhanced witcher hearing.

“Do you think we could get him into bed? . . . oh, fuck,” as the witcher glances rather pointedly in their direction.

Yennefer does not bother holding back her laughter.

“You’re terrible and I hate you.” Jaskier ducks his head down to kiss her cheek. “I’ve got to go massage some egos before I get started anyway. Remember not to let me die.”

“I’m reconsidering. I hadn’t counted on you antagonizing a witcher.”

Jaskier grins at her. “I’ll massage him too, don’t you worry.”

*

It’s not long before Yennefer begins to think Jaskier was not exaggerating the level of danger he could find himself in. As she makes her way through the room, stepping in and out of conversations to lightly pet an ego or two herself, she becomes increasingly aware of the energy permeating the hall. Boisterous, inevitably so with some of these guests, but there’s an edge to it she hadn’t anticipated. The longer Queen Calanthe delays her arrival and the more this crowd has to drink, the sharper that edge will get, until bloodshed might not only not be frowned upon, but actively welcomed.

She adjusts her path to bring her back around to him. Best to remind everyone he isn’t here alone, and that the company he keeps is not to be challenged lightly.

She’s not even halfway there when Jaskier is accosted by an angry lord with murder on his face. Yennefer curses under her breath. She’d been taking the long way around for discretion’s sake, but now she drops the pretense and heads straight for him.

The witcher gets there first.

She’s close enough to hear him say, mildly enough,

“I doubt murdering the entertainment would win you points with the Queen.”

Interesting. So much for the idea that witchers never involve themselves in human affairs. Yennefer slows down and veers off to the side to get a better view.

“He - ! This scoundrel defiled my _wife_ ,” the man splutters.

“Scoundrel he may be” - they both ignore Jaskier’s squawk of protest - “but he’s the sorceress’s scoundrel.” The witcher jerks his chin toward Yennefer. “Does she look like a woman who shares?”

Oh, Yennefer _likes_ him. She lifts her own chin and saunters over, tucking her hand into Jaskier’s elbow. Without taking her eyes off the suddenly uncertain-looking lord, she says,

“He knows better. Don’t you, darling?”

“I do, I do,” Jaskier says fervently. “I’m sure your wife is a most tempting delight, my lord, but no revenge you could take could hold a candle to what my lady Yennefer will do if ever I let myself stray.” Yennefer promises herself she’ll make the witcher describe the look on his face later. Her own face is still cold as she says to the lord, who is starting to look a bit ill as he realizes exactly who she is,

“Or do you doubt my ability to keep him in hand?”

“No. No! Forgive me, Lady.” He bows to her. “It was my mistake. I’ll leave you be.” And he leaves in as much haste as he can without actually running from her.

“Well, thank you both very much. So much for my courtly reputation.” Jaskier’s tone is acidic, but the way he’s smiling at her - at them both - makes Yennefer smile back even as she scolds,

“Show some gratitude. Our new friend here wasn’t obligated to so much as lift a finger for you, let alone save your life.”

“Of course, where are my manners?” Jaskier’s smile slides into something more flirtatious as he turns his attention on the witcher, swaying slightly toward him. “I owe you my life, sir Witcher, _how_ can I ever begin to repay you?”

Oh, good, he’s not going to try to be original this time. She has yet to convince him that he really shouldn’t, probably because his targets tend to decide his pretty face is more important. Which, judging by the witcher’s flat expression, is not a decision he’s going to be making.

“No,” he’s continuing, “take your time, consider your answer. I have to go be entertaining.” He turns as if to go, then pauses. “Come up with something good.”

He winks at the witcher as he departs. Yennefer sighs. 

“Would it make a difference,” she asks, “if I told you he’s much better in bed than any of that implied?”

“No.” She’s a bit taken aback by how curt his tone is and the way his expression shutters. Jaskier has made an even worse impression than she’d thought, then. She considers and discards the idea of saying something more to soothe the witcher’s little heart; Jaskier can clean up his own mess if he wants to bed the man.

“Is this why you were invited to attend this evening?” she asks instead. “To save the steward the trouble of finding another bard at the last minute? Or is Her Majesty intending you to take a more active role as the evening wears on and tempers wear thin?”

“She’ll find herself disappointed if that’s the case.”

“I hear she pays well. I’m sure you’ve had a harder night’s work or two in your time.”

“Hm.”

“And it would hardly worsen your reputation.” She regrets it as soon as she’s said it, before his jaw even tightens; it was a low and boring blow, a cheap shot unworthy of her. “All right, then. If I’m ever in the market for a witcher I can rely on not to kill anyone, I’ll know where to look.”

“I’ll await your summons with breathless anticipation,” he says, dry as a shattered bone. He gives her a sarcastic little bow and walks away.

She _does_ like him.

*

Queen Calanthe arrives, eventually, and Yennefer decides it’s time to take her seat. She knows how this will go: Calanthe will give her no more attention than any other guest, and less than some, until the proceedings have wound to a close and everyone is preparing to take their leave. Then, there will suddenly be a servant at her side, a word in her ear, and she’ll be led to the quiet side room that sees all the real business done in this castle.

For now, she waits.

This is far from the first betrothal feast Yennefer has attended; she willfully forgets after each one how much she dislikes them, only to be viscerally reminded at some point during the next. This time, it’s the interaction she watches from afar between mother and daughter, queen and princess; Calanthe’s body language screaming impatience, Pavetta’s tight with hurt and defiance. Most girls have no reaction, or at least hide it well, but the Lioness’s daughter clearly resents being sold.

Yennefer turns away, finding Jaskier as he dances and sings to the crowd. Their eyes meet, and a real smile breaks for just a second through his performer’s mask.

(She told him once, in the dark, of how she came to be at Aretuza. It was one of the few times she’s known him to have nothing to say.)

Yennefer consciously lowers her shoulders, sips her wine, and waits.

*

With her focus having been on protecting her idiot bard from the fight as it spread (not to mention from himself, as he still seems to think a lute qualifies as an acceptable improvised weapon despite having proven himself wrong more than once), Yennefer now eyes the remaining fighters (too many, did the witcher perhaps think his sword was a club? Did he even try to use it for its intended purpose? He and Jaskier deserve each other) and almost misses the dagger as Calanthe raises it against her daughter’s unwelcome suitor.

She does not miss the chaos that bursts to life inside Pavetta as the princess opens her mouth to scream. It shocks Yennefer so with its strength that she’s half a breath behind as she scrambles to her feet, flinging her hands out to catch that chaos in a shield before the princess can send everyone else flying along with her mother.

She’s not in time to hold it back entirely, but it almost doesn’t matter - it takes all her strength just to hold it within a twenty-foot radius, Pavetta’s uncontrolled chaos screaming against Yennefer’s restraint. Pavetta herself seems completely unaware as she and her knight rise up into the air, Pavetta chanting in Elder that Yennefer can’t make out but doesn’t like the sound of. She shouldn’t be able to do something that controlled, not with magic so completely repressed and previously untouched Yennefer hadn’t even been able to sense it. Yennefer has to do something about it before it very probably literally blows up in their faces, but she’s pouring all her magic into that shield.

She feels a tap on her shoulder, a brush of druidic magic against her shield. The Skelligen druid shouts over the noise,

“Let me in and I can stabilize it! Give you something to work with!”

She nods, grits her teeth with the care it takes to thin a small spot for him to slip his magic through. His power is minor compared to Yennefer’s, but he makes up for it in experience: his skill with shielding magic is impressive, and within seconds the shield is stable enough for Yennefer to free some of her power and focus on Pavetta. She has to push hard to get to the princess, the girl’s chaos fighting her for every inch, but once she’s there it’s almost laughably simple - she disrupts the girl’s concentration with a neatly placed jab, and the chaos dissipates as the couple fall to the floor.

The force of letting the shield go sends both her and the druid staggering back. The witcher is there to lend his friend a steadying hand. Yennefer senses her own spellwork behind her - a tracking spell on a lute, protection woven into a chemise - and allows Jaskier to catch her.

“Can I just say how much I love having a sorceress for a best friend?” he murmurs to her, winding his arms loosely around her waist. “Because I love it more than I love most things.”

“I don’t envy your quill tonight,” she answers. “I hope you brought spares.”

“Mm, yes.” He glances over toward the witcher. “Sorry, darling, inspiration waits for no bard. Maybe another time.”

The witcher’s eyes are intent on Calanthe and Pavetta; he gives no sign he heard a word of that. Jaskier gives a little huff, but Yennefer can feel his attention following the witcher’s. Yennefer, allowing herself the luxury of continuing to lean back against her bard, does the same, because he does have a knack for knowing when a story isn’t over yet.

*

The story isn’t over yet.

“I . . . claim the tradition as you have. The Law of Surprise.”

“He fucking _what?_ ” Jaskier hisses into Yennefer’s ear, every inch the offended storyteller. “Oh, whatever could come next, just _let me guess_ ,” and Yennefer feels herself start to tense up. She pulls out of Jaskier’s arms, stands up straight. Time slows down and her hearing feels hollow.

Pavetta vomits on the floor.

The witcher curses and walks out of the room.

Yennefer doesn’t realize she’s following him until Jaskier is next to her, holding his hands out to her but not touching, not getting in her way, he knows better -

“Yen, Yen, come on, Yen, _please_ , whatever it is you’re thinking -“

She ignores him, keeps walking, hears him call helplessly after her,

“ _Don’t do anything in the next five minutes that you can’t take back!_ ”

*

She’s lightheaded when she catches up to him, face hot and sweat at her temples. He’s retrieving his weapons. Confronting an armed witcher might concern some people; Yennefer doesn’t give it a first thought, let alone a second.

“Where are you going?” she demands. He barely glances up at her.

“What business is it of yours?”

“That child is your responsibility now!” How dare he walk away like it means nothing? _How dare he?_

He gives her a scornful look. “And I should, what, take a baby with me on a monster hunt? The most responsible thing I can do for it is leave it here where it will be safe.”

“Do you have any idea what some people would -” She stops herself there, hard, appalled at how easily she let such a - such a thing almost slip. He isn’t stupid, though, no matter what people may like to tell themselves about witchers, and she realizes that she’s just told him more than she would have if she had let herself finish her sentence. What is she _doing_?

“Consider it yours, then.” He smirks. “If it matters so much to you.”

“It doesn’t" - and how she fights to keep her tone even - "work like that.”

“Then it will have to stay here, behind solid castle walls, where it won’t die of a witcher’s foolishness or a sorceress’s arrogance.”

She lashes out with a burst of power that catches him unprepared. He staggers back into the wall, which is of minimal interest to her.

She watches the steel sword in his hand disintegrate. The token that had been attached to the hilt clinks as it lands on the floor.

“You can’t make demands of chaos,” she explains coolly to his shocked stare, “without feeding it something in return. Oh, don’t look like that. I left you the silver.”

She turns, and she walks back to the banquet.

There she finds Jaskier singing and playing energetically. He’s planted himself at the front of the room and has chosen for his performance a bordello classic. It’s absolutely filthy, completely inappropriate, and is keeping every guest’s eyes squarely on him instead of the stunned royal family still struggling to get their bearings just a few yards behind him.

Yennefer passes him and gives the Queen a perfunctory bow before saying what’s been on her mind since she first threw up her shield. “Now that your daughter has tapped into her power, she’s dangerous until she learns to control it. Shall we discuss my fee for teaching her before someone else tries to claim the honor?”

Not that even Tissaia is likely to come sniffing around the married and pregnant Princess of Cintra, no matter how powerful she is, but Yennefer finds leveraging other people’s paranoia against them to be useful insurance in getting what she wants.

Behind her, Jaskier’s song comes to an end; Calanthe pulls herself up from her position next to Pavetta and snaps at him,

“Get rid of them!”

Jaskier doesn’t miss a beat. “Her Majesty would like to thank you all for attending this evening! I know we’re calling things off a bit earlier than most of you expected, but I think we can all agree there’s been more than enough excitement . . .” Yennefer lets his voice fade into the background, focused on the Queen. Calanthe gives her a thin smile.

“Why don’t we discuss this somewhere a bit more discreet?”

*

By the time she gets back to their quarters, Jaskier is already sat at the table in the bedroom, the meal someone remembered to send for him untouched as he writes furiously. He’ll be lost to his parchment for hours, frantically scribbling down everything he remembers and every thought and idea he has for the song he’s going to make of this night. This does not stop Yennefer from tapping the back of his chair once, primly, before stepping back. He pushes his chair back automatically, still writing even as he holds his free arm out for her. She slides into his lap, settling with a sigh as he wraps his arm around her waist. His quill doesn’t stop once.

Sometimes, when he’s like this, she can still interrupt him with no worse in return than an indignant tirade about how she doesn’t appreciate everything he’s done for her, from which he can generally be distracted. This doesn’t feel like one of those times, though, and she’s had enough to deal with tonight without making him genuinely angry at her, so she keeps quiet, closing her eyes and listening to the scratching of his quill.

She actually startles slightly when it stops and he speaks.

“Did you see, though? The way he fought all those men off, with a sword no less, without spilling a drop of blood? He was using the flat of it, I think, just smacking people away. Not a hint of the Butcher to be seen.”

Her eyes are still closed; she plays with the hair at the nape of his neck, swirling her fingertips through it. It’s still slightly damp with sweat from his exertions. “Your point?”

“What the fuck did you do, Yen?” His tone is milder than his words. She opens her eyes to find him looking expectantly up at her, eyebrows raised. “No, don’t try to deny it either, I saw the look on your face when you came back in.”

“He’s a big boy. He’ll be fine.”

Jaskier studies her for a moment, then visibly lets it go in favor of a theatrically forlorn sigh. “He’s not going to fuck me now, is he?”

“He was never going to fuck you.”

He gapes at her, with the offended gasp he saves for when he really wants to make her laugh. It works sometimes. More often than she should let it. “You _live_ to torment me!”

“You’ll be fine, too.”

“Are you okay?”

She stops, caught off-guard exactly as she was supposed to be. “I hate when you do that.”

He smiles, running his thumb gently along the fall of her hair. She hates when he does this, too, looks at her like this with clear eyes and soft smile. She hates how each time makes her want a little more to take what he doesn’t quite realize he’s offering, to give him what he’ll never ask for and let him keep it.

“I’ll be fine, too,” she says. “And I’ll be staying in Cintra for a while.”

He nods without surprise. “Training the princess up before she destroys the castle?”

“She could,” Yennefer says, flat. “If that’s what she’d been going for today I never could have stopped her. She needs control and she needs it fast.”

“I wondered,” he admits. “Dropping everything to play teacher doesn’t - seem like you.”

“The Queen is also paying me quite handsomely.” Along with free access to the royal library. She’s heard whispers of books she’s been chasing for years and how Cintran royalty has copies they’ve hoarded away from the Brotherhood on sheer principle.

“Yes, that’s more like it.” He gives a little sigh. “I suppose I’ll go see what it is Oxenfurt keeps trying to drag me back for, then.”

“Remind me to refresh the trace on your lute before you go,” she says, and he brightens. “Oh, did you think you were getting rid of me?”

“Dare to dream,” he says with a laugh. He puts his quill down decisively across his parchment. “This can wait. I already know I can’t sing about half of what happened if I ever want to come back to Cintra again anyway.” He curves his now-free hand along her side. “Do I at least get a proper goodbye?”

He does.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, we're tossing canon out the window from here. The next part in what I did not know was going to be a series when I wrote the first fic is underway, and I think there might be three more total? But I'm better at planning than follow-through, so take that with a block of salt.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


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